Chapter Text
Eighth Year, Hogwarts, 1998
Malfoy sucks cock like a porn star.
Harry groans and threads the fingers of his right hand in between soft blond strands, while his left hand reaches behind his own head, nails sinking into the armrest of the sofa. Malfoy smirks and licks up the underside of Harry’s cock and swirls his tongue around the slit. Harry swears and tilts his head backwards, pushing further into the sofa. He moans Malfoy's name, lust circulating in his bloodstream like the most addictive drug. He thrusts his hips upwards in a plea for more, and the sofa squeaks beneath Malfoy when he raises himself on his elbows and knees. Harry gasps, his sharp cry tapering into a drawn-out moan when Malfoy swallows him deeper.
He'll never tire of this.
It's fucking heaven, having every inch engulfed by the exquisite lushness and warmth of Malfoy's mouth, the head of his cock hitting the back of Malfoy's throat with every small push of his hips. The air is heavy with Harry's pants and Malfoy's moans—he knows how much Harry likes it loud. Malfoy looks so damn good giving head—tousled blond hair, hollowed-out cheeks and half-lidded eyes smoky with sex and seduction. His satin-soft lips wrap around Harry's prick, tongue teasing him with every slow drag on his shaft, slick with pre-come and saliva.
Looking at him is enough to make Harry come.
"So good, gonna—" Harry chokes out, his thighs clenching and his back arching off the sofa.
Of course, this is the exact moment when Malfoy, the contrary bastard, pulls off. He licks his lips and grins. "Tell me how much you want it," he whispers, his voice hoarse.
"What the fuck, Malfoy," Harry hisses incredulously. He gestures to himself, and Malfoy's gaze travels over him, a silky smirk of satisfaction curving his mouth. Harry's cock is so hard it rests against his belly, and he supposes he should feel self-conscious at the wanton way he's lying naked on the sofa in the common room, thighs spread so wide that his left leg dangles off the back of the sofa and his right ankle rests on the carpet.
"Always so desperate for it." Malfoy smiles, teeth glinting in the moonlight as he prowls up Harry's body until he's straddling him, his knees on either side of Harry's hips. He's saying something, but Harry's brain is short-circuiting at this new position. If he shifts just a little bit lower and raises his hips just like this—
Malfoy's words dissolve into a heady moan when Harry's cock nudges against his crease. Unable to stop himself, Harry reaches up and kneads Malfoy's arse-cheeks, spreading them to grant his prick more space to slide in between. He doesn't know how Malfoy feels about this; they've never gone all the way.
But Malfoy certainly isn't complaining. He closes his eyes and throws his head back, exposing his gulping throat as he rocks back and forth on his knees, moving on top of Harry in perfect rhythm. "Harry. Fuck, thought about this so much…"
Harry groans at Malfoy’s whisper of his first name, his prick stiffening further. Has he been thinking about this too? His heart lifts with hope. He wants to hold him close and never let him go. He wants to sear this into his memory, memorise Malfoy's breathy gasps of his name, this intoxicating slide of skin on skin and the pressure of Malfoy's palms on his chest.
Are… are we gonna fuck? We need lube and prepping spells, don't we? Shit, my wand's in the dorm. Or would he want my fingers instead? Wait, am I topping? Amidst the fog of lust, a mounting panic begins to set in. They're both equally inexperienced—
A peal of laughter rings out from the other side of the portrait hole. Malfoy's eyes fly open, and they freeze at the approaching footsteps and voices. Harry yanks Malfoy down on top of him. Even though it's late, it isn't uncommon for students to return from the library at this hour after studying for the upcoming N.E.W.T.s. Anyone could walk in on them, and this only makes things more exciting.
They wait with bated breath as the chatter fades away. Malfoy stares at him, before pushing up and away from him. Harry blinks, uncertain. The interruption broke the moment, but he tries anyway. "Just now, we…"
Flustered, Malfoy lunges forward and shuts him up with a kiss so intense that Harry forgets his sentence. When they pull apart, Malfoy's eyes glimmer with intent, his control clicking back into place. He drapes himself on top of Harry and shoots him a coquettish wink. Renewed lust fires in Harry's system, and he gazes at Malfoy, his chest heaving and lips parted in anticipation.
With a smile of a sinner, Malfoy snakes a hand down between them.
Harry groans and begins to thrust into his palm.
"All of them want you," Malfoy murmurs. At that silky-smooth, baritone voice, Harry wraps his arms around Malfoy's neck and ruts against him harder. "Your worshippers. Your silly fan club. But it's me, isn't it? It's always been me." He releases a low, mocking laugh, his thumb teasing Harry's sensitive slit. "When you sit here with your friends, I want you to think of this. Our little secret, how good I'm making you—" His words break off into a strangled moan when Harry wraps a hand around his prick, his other hand trailing to his arse, squeezing it.
"Just me. Only me." Malfoy grits out between clenched teeth. He bats Harry’s hand away and releases his cock, only to rest his elbows on either side of Harry’s head, trapping him. They're grinding now, each heated push and roll of their hips increasing their pleasure to a fever-pitch as they chase their orgasms.
"Just you. Only you," Harry repeats in jagged gasps, starbursts of ecstasy igniting in him like fireworks. "Gonna, I'm gonna—"
"Say my name, fucking say it—"
"Draco, fuck yes, Draco, come for me, come all over me—"
A possessive gleam flares in grey eyes, and Malfoy hisses, a growl building in the back of his throat. He sinks his teeth into the side of Harry's neck and sucks hard, leaving another love bite that Harry will Glamour away tomorrow morning.
Harry comes first. He spurts all over Malfoy's hand, his stomach clenching and mind hazy with the spine-tingling pleasure. Malfoy stares at him, and then cries out his name, shooting his load on Harry's hips and cock. Their synchronised breaths emerge hot and heavy, and Harry tucks two fingers under Malfoy's chin.
"Draco," he murmurs, capturing his lips in a soft, gentle kiss.
Malfoy stiffens, but relaxes and reciprocates, although it lacks the intensity of their previous kisses. "Potter," he mumbles.
So it's back to Potter and Malfoy again.
Harry frowns and withdraws at once. Stung, he turns away from Malfoy, jaw hardening. Malfoy clears his throat and stands up, going to his pyjamas on the floor and rustling about in them for his wand to clean them up. He puts on his clothes and glances at Harry, who is still stretched out on the sofa and looking at him.
"Well, goodnight," Malfoy mutters. He shuffles from foot to foot, before nodding at Harry and heading back to their dorms.
Harry rubs his eyes and releases a long sigh, brimming with feeling. Biting his lower lip, he rests his palm on the armrest, on the warmth of Malfoy's leftover heat.
He wishes he was holding his hand instead.
He knows there's no use hoping for anything more, but…
Sometimes, it feels as if Malfoy fancies him back too.
His shoulders slumping, Harry scrubs at his face in frustration. As usual, Malfoy will be in the loo, brushing his teeth. And then he'll enter their dorms and drop off to sleep, while Harry will toss and turn, his mind consumed with Malfoy.
Something empty and cavernous rattles inside Harry's chest. He feels strangely vulnerable, sitting naked in the common room with Malfoy's love bites all over his skin. "Fuck," he mutters, pulling himself together. I'm not gonna mope when it means nothing to him. He outs on his pyjamas and trudges up to the dorm shared with the other eighth-year boys. Harry tiptoes a circuit around the room, making sure that everyone is asleep.
Relieved, he takes off his glasses and climbs into bed, gazing at Malfoy's empty bed beside his. Harry rolls over, training his eyes on the door. His body is still warm, and he runs his palms up his chest, relishing the feel of Malfoy's handprints scattered on his skin. Maybe I’ll hold him tonight. Crawl into bed with him and hold him for a bit. If he looks at me later, I'll do it.
He doesn't have to wait long before the door clicks open. Malfoy steals into the room, passing him without a backwards glance and slipping into bed, his body turned away from Harry.
Well, there’s my answer. Harry stares at his back for a long moment. At the rush of longing scrawled all over his heart, he frowns and turns around, facing Ron instead.
In return, his best mate lets out a tremendous snore.
Harry sighs and lies on his back, looking at the ceiling in disappointment. It'll never work out with Malfoy. Wrong timing, different priorities. He's told himself this countless times in the hopes of wiping out his inconvenient feelings for Malfoy. Merlin knows they've fought over this so many times, but he can't stop what his heart wants.
He can't get enough of this sneaking around, the sudden burst of adrenaline, followed by the addictive, mind-numbing pleasure. He can't get enough of Malfoy's mouth, his cock, his body, his moans.
"I'm going to get you in trouble someday," Malfoy snarled last November when they first started fooling around. They were in an abandoned classroom, Malfoy crowding him against the teacher's table, his deft fingers unfastening Harry's jeans, tugging his pants down. He sank to his knees, lips already parted.
And Harry only wants more.
"Did you see what Binns did?"
Harry's laugh cuts off when the doors of the Great Hall swing open, revealing Malfoy, Parkinson and Zabini.
They're the only eighth-year Slytherins to return.
The din of Sunday lunch, along with the lively conversation about Binns at the Gryffindor table, fades away as Harry stares at Malfoy. He's dressed in Muggle clothes—a white T-shirt, tight navy-blue jeans that accentuate his long legs and hug his arse in just the right way, and red high-top Converse trainers. He's swapped his silver studs to black round earrings. When he lifts a hand to sweep his hair back, Harry spots two leather bracelets—one black, one brown—on his left wrist.
Harry’s mouth goes dry. This is the exact get-up that makes him hot and bothered, and Malfoy is all too aware of this.
They haven't been meeting up as often, what with N.E.W.T.s starting next week. This is Malfoy's way of getting Harry's attention, wearing something like that and sauntering into the Great Hall thirty minutes late for lunch and ignoring Harry’s gaze.
Since the start of the school year, it's obvious that Malfoy is going through some sort of rebellious phase to distance himself from his upbringing. His Muggle clothes, piercings, his occasional references to Muggle pop culture, along with…
… sleeping with Harry.
Harry's heart hurts.
He knows he should look away, but he can't, especially when Andrew Smith, a sixth-year Ravenclaw struts over to Malfoy and engages him in conversation. Harry's fist tightens around his fork when Malfoy flashes Smith a flirtatious smile and touches his elbow. A stab of jealousy, so fierce and sudden that it takes Harry by surprise, flares in his chest, and he glares at Smith.
When Malfoy removes his hand, he tilts his head to slant a sly look at Harry, as if aware of him watching. Harry looks away at once, meeting Pansy Parkinson’s eyes. Her lips hike up in wry amusement, and she holds his gaze over the top of her glass as she drinks, her piercing eyes giving nothing away.
Unease stirs in his stomach. How much does she know?
"Harry, your elbow is in your pasta."
At Hermione's words, he turns away from Parkinson. His friends are staring at him, some with concern and confusion, but Ron and Hermione simply look resigned. He glances down; his elbow is indeed in his plate of spag bol. He mutters his thanks and casts a Cleaning Charm on his jumper.
The rest of lunch passes by uneventfully, and Harry makes it a point to prevent his gaze from straying to the Slytherin table until Malfoy takes his leave. He catches Harry's eye and tips his head towards the door, before disappearing from the Hall.
Harry counts to sixty before giving some flimsy excuse, throwing his napkin down and hurrying out. He continues onwards down the long corridor, pausing when he spots Malfoy appearing at the end. Malfoy veers left, turning a corner.
Anticipation simmers in Harry's blood at the hunt. He grins, picking up the pace until he's running. He chases Malfoy through two more corridors, following him into an empty classroom. Breathless, Harry slams the door closed and wraps a hand around Malfoy's wrist, pulling him into his arms in a smooth, fluid motion.
"You know how hot this gets me," Harry growls, sliding his hands into the back pockets of Malfoy’s jeans, giving his arse a hard squeeze.
"Good. Because I want your attention," Malfoy replies, his voice equally husky. He trails his palm down Harry's left shoulder and abdomen, until his fingers are grazing Harry's prick through his trousers. "I want it all the time."
Harry’s breath hitches. "What did Smith want?"
The question tumbles out before he can stop it.
Malfoy chuckles. "Nothing important. Don't worry, Potter." He drags his fingertips along Harry’s hardening cock. "He's not you."
Malfoy unfastens Harry’s trousers and works his hand into his pants. Harry rests his forehead on the other boy’s shoulder, his own hand stroking Malfoy’s hip. They’ll get each other off yet again, with Malfoy's touch overpowering Harry's rational thinking every single time. They'll pretend that there's nothing between them, but with every encounter, Harry's aching heart says otherwise, and he doesn't know how much more he can take—
"Come away with me."
At Harry's words, Malfoy goes very still.
Harry’s heart sinks. They've argued about this so many times, and it's never ended well, so why would it be different now?
Maybe it's because of how gently he kissed my forehead last week, how he cried out my name when I sucked him off late that night at the Courtyard, how he touches me as if I… I actually mean something more to him.
Harry kicks at the ground in disappointment when Malfoy shoves him away. "Let's not spoil a good thing," he says stiffly.
Harry huffs and buttons up his trousers. When Malfoy glances at the door, Harry stands directly in front of him, blocking his escape.
Malfoy scowls.
Harry sighs. "I mean it. You know I've been talking to Kingsley, and we drafted a rough contract two days ago by owl. I'll be officially employed by the Ministry after N.E.W.T.s and I’ll have my overseas postings then. I could take you along. Go wherever you want to go. Any country. Just the two of us." His words emerge in a hurried rush, and he hates how apparent it is that he's thought about this so much. "We could leave Britain and carve out a new life. Away from everything and everyone,” he says, sweeping an arm out.
Being cloistered away and protected within the four walls of Hogwarts is all fine and good, but it's going to be drastically different when Harry leaves. All the suffocating adoration and worship, the blinding camera lights flashing in his face, paparazzi dogging his every move, the pressure still heaped on his shoulders…
No, he can’t stay.
"Take me along?" Malfoy sneers, throwing Harry's words back at him. "Like I'm some sort of… kept woman? You know very well I can't leave Britain because of my parents! They have expectations for me as the only Malfoy heir, and I can't disappoint them anymore!" He narrows his eyes. "The Ministry is desperate to employ you. In fact, I won't be surprised if they created a special position just for you, their dear Golden Boy!"
Harry bunches his fists, anger twisting in his gut. He hates the nicknames that the media showers on him, especially when said in that mocking tone, and Malfoy knows that. They always know the fastest way to push each other's buttons, both in and out of bed. Adrenaline of a different sort storms through Harry's veins, tugging at the familiar undercurrent of heat crackling between them.
"Oh, really? What's left for you here? Besides your misguided notion of familial duties, your ill father and demanding mother? What future do you have after Hogwarts?" Harry snaps, enjoying the way Malfoy swallows doubtfully.
A glint of fury sparks in grey eyes. "At least I have family!" Malfoy shouts, taking a step forward.
Harry rears back as if slapped.
Malfoy clamps his hand to his mouth. His eyes widen in genuine alarm, and he ducks his head, dropping his gaze. "I didn't…"
What the hell am I thinking? There's no future for us. Only heartbreak and pain.
"You know what?"
Even though it is Harry's own monotonous voice echoing in the classroom, it doesn't feel as if it's coming from him. He hangs his head in resignation, dull eyes trained on Malfoy's shoes. It’s easier to say this when he’s not looking at his face. He feels numb, as if he’s lost control of everything.
"I’m done."
What? What are you saying, Harry? Shut up, shut the fuck up!
Malfoy releases a shaky laugh of disbelief. "You can't be serious. You’re done? Everyone wants to get laid, and—"
Harry jerks his head up in anger. "Is that all I mean to you? Just sex?"
A long, loaded pause.
"What are you implying, Potter?" Malfoy asks in an even tone, his features carefully blank.
Harry doesn't know what to say to that. All he knows is that it's time for him to walk away first.
With steel lacing up his spine, he turns sharply on his heel and stalks out of the classroom, ignoring Malfoy’s call. His mind is still scrambling to catch up with this turn of events when he descends a staircase, tripping on the last step. Did we just… did we break up?
But to break up, they must've been in a relationship in the first place.
Harry laughs without humour. He slumps against the wall and removes his glasses. He rubs his face and sighs, needing some fresh air to clear his mind.
He wears his glasses and heads towards the Great Lake. It’s a lazy, lovely May afternoon, complete with a periwinkle-blue sky and fluffy cotton-candy clouds. A welcoming breeze and the sunshine soaking into his skin calms Harry down somewhat. He slows to a stroll, and the tight coil of hurt and defeat thrumming within him eases with every step. There are many students around—mostly from the lower years—taking advantage of the warm weather, gossiping or playing games on the grass while most of his classmates are probably at the library.
Except for two of them.
Harry stops in his tracks at the sight of Ron and Hermione sitting beneath a large tree, immersed in conversation. He doesn’t know if he should approach them in his frazzled state of mind. He's about to turn around, when Ron looks up and waves. Hermione twists around and matches Ron’s smile.
Despite himself, Harry grins, his heart lightening. He joins them. Ron leans back on the tree trunk, his gaze appraising. Hermione arranges her skirt primly over her knees. "Are you alright, Harry? You've been acting strange recently."
Harry nods, putting Malfoy out of his mind. "Just exam stress."
"Yeah, mate," Ron pipes up. "Thought you were gonna tell us that you finally got together with—"
"Yes, the exams are certainly getting to everyone," Hermione says loudly, drowning out Ron, who glances at her and raises an eyebrow.
Harry changes the subject. "I sorted things out with Kingsley. It’s confirmed. I'm gonna join the Ministry after Hogwarts."
One of the things that Harry really enjoyed was leading Dumbledore's Army—the teaching of practical Defence magic and the sense of accomplishment when his friends improved. He mentioned this to Kingsley over the summer, along with his need to leave Britain, and Kingsley suggested a suitable career. It’s a position in the International Relations branch of the DMLE, where the primary job scope was to instruct and train different Auror-equivalent teams around the world, on top of providing intelligence and acting as a consultant in British-linked cases.
Ron leans forward. "That's brilliant! Do you know where you'll be off to?"
"Not yet. He'll brief me on the specifics of the job first. I'll probably spend my first year undergoing training, though."
"I'm really happy for you," Hermione says, patting his hand. Her smile dims. "Well, at least we'll have the next few weeks together."
Harry recalls the stricken expression on Malfoy's face in the classroom. He swallows, keeping his tone light and his features neutral. "I dunno, Hermione. I might leave earlier than expected. I might not even stay for the Leaving Ball."
Just the thought of Malfoy, decked out in his best dress robes, dancing with someone else, is enough to swamp Harry in a wave of jealousy and anger.
"Oh." Hermione's face falls, while Ron frowns, his brows knitting together in question. "You're really leaving us, aren't you?" she says, her voice wavering in a tell-tale manner. "You'll be all alone, so far away. Without us."
Emotion thickens in Harry's throat, and he dredges up a weak smile. "Then I'll just have to find a giant troll to defeat, yeah?"
"I'll miss you so much," Hermione says, her face crumpling in sorrow and her words dissolving into tears. She lunges towards him and pulls him into a hug. He wraps his arms around her at once, inhaling the minty scent of her shampoo and the feel of her curls against his cheek. Behind her, Ron nods at him.
Harry nods back and buries his head into her neck. Her tears seep through his shirt, and he pats her hair, a shard of sadness cutting through him. "Hey, don't be silly. I'll write, yeah? You’ll come and visit me and I'll bring you around. We’ll go sight-seeing and eat at the best restaurants."
Hermione sniffles and pulls away. "We’ll hold you to that promise."
Harry doesn’t think about Malfoy for the rest of the day. He enjoys the sunshine and the company of his two best friends, just like old times.
That night, Malfoy wakes him up again. He laces their fingers together, looks deep into his eyes, whispers Harry’s name and runs his thumb across Harry’s lower lip in a heart-stoppingly intimate gesture.
Harry lets Malfoy tug him out of bed.
He lets Malfoy throw him down to the sofa, lets him slide his pyjama bottoms off, lets him slot himself between Harry's thighs and suck him off.
With his fingers tangled in blond hair and dazed eyes staring at the ceiling, Harry tries to numb his heart, to compartmentalise his emotions like what Malfoy is capable of. It's just something physical. Nothing else.
But their kisses are even more passionate and desperate than usual, going straight to Harry's heart, made even worse when Malfoy climbs on top of him and lets out a pained sound, a cross between a sigh and a sob.
"We can't stop, don't you understand?" he chokes out, peppering Harry's face with kisses so delicate and light that Harry wishes he could bottle each one up and lock it forever in his bejewelled box of a breaking heart. Each kiss is like an apology, and Malfoy's nails sink deeper into his skin, his craving for Harry trembling in his touch. "I can't stop, Harry."
Harry lives for the times when they're Harry and Draco to each other.
Malfoy kisses his way down his body, his tongue hitting that sweet spot on his cock. Harry cries out his name when his orgasm hits, flooding him with a tidal wave of pleasure so intense that stars spark at the borders of his vision, soothing the perpetual hunger for Malfoy gnawing away at him.
Afterwards, he holds Malfoy close, committing his vanilla scent, the warmth of his body and the rhythm of his breathing to memory.
This time, Malfoy lets him.
They lie naked on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling, each lost in the maze of their own thoughts. Harry would give anything to have this for the rest of his life, but they can't. They're like a malfunctioning, high-speed train that has already left the station, bound for a tragedy of a train-wreck.
But they can't stop.
"You ever think about sex with me?"
Harry freezes in mid-kiss at the question. After a moment, he pulls back to regard Malfoy with eyes wide in disbelief.
Malfoy drops his gaze to Harry’s chest. He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Like, all the way. Do you?"
The playful, indulgent mood of the night melts away, replaced by something more loaded and significant. Uncertain grey eyes peer up at Harry underneath a fringe of tousled blond hair, and Harry's heart stutters for a second.
Malfoy stiffens and presses his lips together. He waves a dismissive hand in the air, looking away. "Sorry, I shouldn't have—"
"Yeah," Harry blurts out. "Yeah, I do. I think about it all the time.” He pulls Malfoy closer and plants a chaste kiss on his cheek. Malfoy relaxes, the tension of his shoulders unwinding. "I didn't know if you wanted that, so I… er… well…”
"When you think about it, how do we… do it?"
Harry hasn’t seen Malfoy this tongue-tied and unsure of himself. He finds it endearing and comforting, as if they're both navigating in equally unfamiliar waters. He shakes his head. "It doesn't matter to me. I want it to be good for you."
“Stop being so damn selfless.” Malfoy’s eyes flare with lust and impatience. "I don't think you understand the question, Potter," he drawls. He threads his fingers in Harry’s hair and tugs his head back, licking from the base of his throat up to the bottom of his chin, making Harry even harder. He murmurs the question into Harry's neck, his voice so low and husky that a shiver ripples down Harry's spine. "What do you think of that makes you come the hardest?"
Harry doesn’t need to think twice. "It's when I'm fucking you hard into the bed, fucking you so good that you forget your name," he says, punctuating his words with a squeeze of Malfoy’s arse.
Malfoy's breath catches, and he kisses his trembling words into Harry's skin. "Fuck me, then. Take me to bed and fuck me 'til the only name I remember is yours."
Harry's cock throbs.
Malfoy begins to button his shirt. "Room of Requirement. We obviously can't go to the dorms,” he says briskly.
Christ, he's planned it out. Harry quickly makes himself presentable, too. They leave the classroom and take the quieter route, running into no one; it's too late for the younger students to be out, plus the post-N.E.W.T.s celebrations in the dorms are probably winding down. His heart racing with excitement and surprise, Harry presses the heel of his palm on his erection briefly as they hurry to their destination.
Malfoy takes the lead, walking past the Room three times. When the door appears, Harry wrenches it open and they crash through it, only to be greeted with an enormous bed. It's the biggest four-poster Harry has seen; big enough for four people, but what's even more surprising is the sprinkling of red rose petals, a contrast to the pristine white sheets. Even though there are no windows, the gauzy bed curtains ripple, as if welcoming them.
"I didn't ask for the petals," Malfoy says.
The two identical cupboards at the right side of the Room intrigue Harry. He walks towards them, Malfoy behind him. Harry opens one. He steps back in astonishment at the wide selection of silk blindfolds, handcuffs, Slytherin ties, leather restraints, and Merlin, is that a… a paddle?
He turns startled eyes on Malfoy, who has gone a lovely shade of pink. Malfoy jumps into action, slotting himself between Harry and the cupboard. He grabs both doors to close them, but Harry elbows him away, snatching up a book and glancing at the cover.
How to Discipline your Gryffindor.
Harry stares.
Malfoy makes a strange, wheezing sound and yanks it away from him. He tosses it into the cupboard, shoves Harry away and slams the cupboard shut. He presses his back against the doors, his cheeks still tinged with a rosy blush.
Harry rubs the back of his neck. "I didn't know you liked that," he mutters, interrupting the charged silence.
"I didn't ask for all of that," Malfoy insists, his gaze lowering to Harry’s shoes and his voice becoming smaller. “I mean, sometimes I do think about using that on you, especially when you get bloody annoying, but…”
Harry snickers, amused.
Malfoy frowns in indignation. "Think it's funny, do you?" He points at the other cupboard. "I wonder what's in yours. Bet it's even kinkier, full of whips and chains and… and sexy costumes, I reckon!"
Before Harry can come up with a rebuttal, Malfoy jerks open the second cupboard, taunt wilting on his lips at the sight of the empty cupboard. “Nothing?" he yelps. "Nothing at all?"
Harry shrugs, stepping behind Malfoy and resting his hands on his hips. He presses forward, making his erection known. Malfoy arches his back, pushing his arse on Harry's prick. "You're more than enough," Harry murmurs, undoing Malfoy's belt buckle and slowly sliding it through his belt loops. "I don't need anything else, although I definitely wouldn't mind being… disciplined," he says, practically purring the last word.
"Yeah?" Malfoy says around a breathless whisper, his eyes following his belt as Harry drops it onto the floor.
"I'm open to exploring. By the way, I'd much rather prefer silk to leather," Harry says, rubbing his palms up and down the curve of Malfoy’s arse. "Particularly the red silk ribbons."
Malfoy tilts his face towards him, a smirk playing on his lips. "I'll keep that in mind."
Harry motions to the first cupboard with his chin. "Let's save that for next time." He kisses Malfoy's shoulder. "Just you and me tonight, yeah?"
Eager to keep things on track, he leads Malfoy to the bed. He's about to kiss him when Malfoy spies a book on the nightstand. Equally distracted by the title—Useful Spells and Positions for Beginners to Anal Sex—Harry reads the table of contents along with Malfoy.
"Page fifteen," Malfoy mutters. Harry glances at the corresponding page on the table—Cleaning Charms. "Excuse me," Malfoy says, kissing him on the temple and disappearing into another room that Harry assumes is the loo.
Harry plops down on the bed, his eyes roaming to the variety of jars and tubes of lubricant on the nightstand. He twists open a red jar, sniffs it and gags at the cloying scent of strawberry. He flicks through the selection, finally settling on a tube of clear, non-scented lube and putting it on the bed.
Harry toes off his trainers and socks. His hands hover on the hem of his shirt. Should I take off my clothes, or is that too eager? He bites the inside of his cheek, unsure. Instead, he pulls the duvet back and smooths the sheets. Should I be in a sexy pose? He lies on his side with his elbow bent and left palm propping his head up. He stays there for a moment, before sighing and flopping face-down. This is stupid. He sits on the edge of the bed, swinging his legs as he waits, fingers tapping out a rhythm to ease the pent-up energy rattling in him.
There's the flush of a toilet and a tap running. A barefoot Malfoy emerges, wearing his shirt and pants, carrying his shoes and his trousers flung over his shoulder. Harry blinks rapidly, before shucking his jeans and tossing them to the floor. His mouth goes dry when Malfoy licks his lips and holds his hungry gaze as he strips naked. He moves closer, standing between Harry's open thighs.
"Hello," Malfoy whispers with a seductive smile, his lashes fluttering.
"Hey," Harry croaks, looking up at him. He slides his palms up Malfoy's thighs, his touch grazing the soft hairs. He reaches for Malfoy's arse, squeezing his cheeks. Just the thought of what they’re gonna do tonight, bloody hell…
Malfoy's cock twitches. He takes off Harry's glasses and places them on the nightstand. He loves doing that, loves the fact that he's one of the few people close enough to Harry to take them off. Harry tugs his T-shirt and boxers off, and Malfoy stares at his cock with bright and glossy eyes, desire scrawled all over his features.
Malfoy gets into bed, leaning back on the large pillows. He grins, pulls Harry down on top of him and draws him into a kiss, his breath smelling like mint.
Harry withdraws. Shit, should I have brushed my teeth too? He buries his head into Malfoy's neck, huffing out a breath. Nope, s'alright. Thank Merlin I skipped the onion soup for dinner.
"Potter?"
Stop worrying and enjoy it. Harry sweeps Malfoy up into a slow, simmering kiss full of heated sighs, teasing tongues and wandering touches. The kiss intensifies when he lowers his hips, pressing their pricks together. Malfoy moans at the sensation, and Harry tilts his head and deepens the kiss as they grind against each other, cocks sliding and their movements increasing in urgency with each roll of their hips.
Harry doesn't need to look to know that Malfoy's cock is absolutely gorgeous—long and so responsive, just like Malfoy himself. The sounds he makes when Harry sucks him off…
His mouth waters at the thought.
He kisses his way down Malfoy's neck, his chest…
…only to pause when Malfoy makes a noise. Malfoy lifts his head from the pillow and peers down at him. "What are you doing?"
"Gonna blow you.”
"No, if you do, I'm going to come."
"Nothing wrong with that, yeah?" Harry runs his lips down the side of Malfoy's waist. "Wanna please you."
"I know, and you always suck me so good, but I…" Malfoy motions for him to sit up. "I want to come only when you're inside me."
Fuck. Lust surges in Harry, and he briefly squeezes the base of his own cock.
"Keep talking like that, and we're both not gonna last," he says, grabbing the lube. His blood is pounding in his ears, his cock throbbing as he coats his fingers. His hand holding the vial tips over too much—probably because of nerves—and lube flows into his palm, dripping onto Malfoy's stomach.
Malfoy jerks. "Cold," he hisses, removing the lube with his arm.
"Sorry," Harry says. He looks down at his cupped hand, at the small puddle of lube gathered in the centre of his palm. "Um." He looks at the nightstand, his cheeks warm with embarrassment. He’s tempted to wipe his hand on the sheets, but Malfoy might find that too graceless. "D'you think there'd be tissues there?"
Malfoy twists around to open the drawers, and Harry inwardly thanks the Room when he withdraws a box of tissues. Harry quickly wipes away the excess lube, leaving only his fingers coated. Malfoy tucks a pillow beneath his hips, and Harry climbs on top, slanting his body to the side. He kisses Malfoy hard, hoping to sweep away the awkwardness of the lube incident with a good snog. His hand goes between Malfoy's legs, a finger rubbing his rim. Malfoy spreads his thighs more, giving Harry more space.
The thought of kissing Malfoy there, that secret, private place that no one else has ever touched is enough to drive Harry’s anticipation to fever-pitch. He's heard the boys talking about something like that, about licking girls there and how much they like it. Next time. I'll lick him there next time, if he wants that.
Malfoy pulls back, his breaths quick. "Go slow. Gentle."
Harry nods, his stomach fluttering. "Tell me if it's too much." He tucks his left arm under the back of Malfoy's neck to support himself and to hold him close. He kisses Malfoy briefly, and then eases his finger in, working past the tight ring of muscle. He's halfway in when Malfoy bears down, scrunching his eyes shut and sinking his teeth into his bottom lip.
Harry withdraws at once.
Malfoy opens his eyes and shakes his head, anxious. "Don't stop. I just need to get used to this. I don't want you to—"
"Not stopping. We'll go slow. No rush. Got the whole night," Harry soothes, smoothing Malfoy's hair back and kissing him slowly, sweetly until he relaxes, nervous tension seeping out of his body.
Harry tries again. This time, he manages to slide his entire finger in. He moves it in and out, studying Malfoy's expression to know when to push and ease off, until Malfoy's hips are rocking together with him. When he asks for more in a soft, breathy voice, Harry adds a second finger, going even slower.
It's when his fingers brush past a particular spot that Malfoy cries out, his body seizing up. He clenches around Harry, the soles of his feet digging into the bed.
"Did I hurt you?" Harry asks. Alarmed, he withdraws.
"The opposite, the fucking opposite. Salazar, Harry, touch me there again,” Malfoy pleads, grabbing Harry’s hand and putting it between his thighs. "I don't know what you did, but Merlin, do it again."
His eyes wide in wonder, Harry repeats the motion, although he has to explore to find the right spot. Amazed, he gasps when pleasure ripples through Malfoy again. "Here?"
Malfoy groans. "Remember that, where it is, 'cause I'm gonna come so hard when you fuck me there.” His words spiral up into a loud cry when Harry pushes in again, a little harder and faster. "Just like that, don't stop. One more, c'mon, one more.”
Fuck, look at Malfoy, at his slender, pale body, once so tight and rigid, now so pliable and relaxed, so hungry for more. His limbs are splayed apart, hips moving in hypnotising circles, riding Harry's three fingers. He's so ready, so fucking ready to take Harry’s cock.
"Shit.” Harry cups his own leaking prick and squeezes his eyes shut. He sucks in a harsh breath, trying to summon some semblance of control. "Fuck, Draco. This is so hot. You're so hot."
Malfoy flings an arm out, patting the bed for the lube and tosses it to Harry, who wastes no time. He slicks himself all the way to the root.
"Look at you," Malfoy whispers. He touches his own throat, glazed-over eyes glued to Harry's cock. With a slow smile, Harry indulges in a wank, pumping his hips slow and steady, the head of his cock sliding through the circle of his hand. Lube drips off his prick, and Malfoy's lips part in desire. They stare at each other, and Harry drinks in the sight of Malfoy spread out in bed like this, just for him. And this is when it truly hits him, this immensity of the moment, coupled with this thundering lust and emotion so strong and encompassing that it takes his breath away.
They've never fooled around in a bed before, always kissing and groping in classrooms or tucked-away alcoves, their secret relationship never to see the light of day, but doing this in a bed…
It's as if they're a proper couple.
Harry's heart twinges.
There's the Sectumsempra scar, an ugly slash of a knitted scar from the top of Malfoy's chest, ending near his belly-button. When Harry first saw it, he kissed every inch in repentance and regret while Malfoy writhed beneath him, hands grabbing his hair.
"Your scar, it burns. Your mark on me, forever. You burn me, Harry, and I love every second."
Malfoy lifts his legs and tucks his arms under the back of his knees, exposing himself. "Don't make me wait, Harry. Need you so bad.” He purses his lips in impatience, eyes still trained on Harry's prick. "Now, right now.”
His mouth quirking up in a sly grin and his nerve endings stirring, Harry scoots closer to Malfoy and positions himself on his knees. He holds his prick and rubs it along Malfoy's crease, the tip of his tongue touching his upper lip. "Feel that? Feel how hard I am for you. Never been this hard for anyone."
Malfoy growls in frustration. "Stop teasing and fuck me, you fucking bastard," he hisses, his words melting in a loud groan when Harry pushes in. The sensation is incredible and entirely indescribable, so much more erotic than getting sucked off, with Malfoy so warm and tight around him. Harry swears and grasps the base of his cock as he presses forward to keep his orgasm at bay.
"Ah.” Malfoy grimaces, clenching around Harry. "Ah," he says again, this time with feeling. He grits his teeth, fists his hands and scrunches his eyes shut. Harry looks down; Malfoy’s erection is flagging.
Although he’s only half in, Harry withdraws.
"I want it, I really do," Malfoy insists. He frowns at himself and wanks in short, desperate strokes, keen on showing Harry just how much he wants it.
"I know," Harry says, gently pushing Malfoy’s hand away. "I'll go slow. Make you feel good real soon, hit that spot you like so much." He lines his prick up again and applies the same strategy that he did with his fingers; pushing in and out, before plunging deeper and easing out again, until he's entirely engulfed, his throbbing cock deep in Malfoy. It's fucking brilliant, with Malfoy feeling like the most luxurious, sensual silk wrapped around his cock. “Let go,” Harry says, gesturing to Malfoy’s arms. “Want your legs. Around me.”
Grey eyes gaze up at him intently as Malfoy hooks his ankles behind Harry’s back and lets his hands fall to the bed. Malfoy nudges the pillow under his hips, and they gasp at the slight change in angle. Harry exhales, his arms trembling with excitement and the effort of holding himself up. I'm in Draco, fuck, I'm balls-deep in him and I’ve never felt anything like this.
He stays still, allowing Malfoy to get used to him, although he’s eager to start fucking him proper.
"All in?" Malfoy asks breathlessly.
"Yeah. Alright?"
Malfoy nods. "Stay there. Wanna memorise how you feel. So thick, so full…" He closes his eyes, savouring the moment. Harry pulls out an inch and thrusts back into him, eliciting a moan from Malfoy, whose cock begins to fill. "So good. Fuck, Harry, so good."
Harry chuckles shakily, kissing Malfoy's shoulder. "It's pretty good for me too."
"I bet." Malfoy smiles, eyes flashing and smirk sharpening. "Know what I want?"
"What?"
Malfoy flutters his lashes, smouldering up at him, and Harry's heart does a silly little somersault. He wraps his arms around Harry’s neck, pulling him forward until his elbows land on the bed. Malfoy whispers into his ear, his voice as intimate and promising as the rustling bedsheets. "Fuck me until I can still feel you in me tomorrow morning."
Fucking hell.
His heart racing, and a tingling shiver rippling through him, Harry props himself up on his hands and begins to thrust, hips rocking back and forth. Malfoy is a feast for his senses: his vanilla scent, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the Room, jacking up Harry's pleasure to greater heights. The addictive warmth around his cock is overwhelming, and Malfoy looks so fucking good—blond hair on the pillow, that familiar flush building on his chest, which will eventually spread to his neck, even his cheeks, when he finally comes. His rosebud lips, so lush and plump as he cries out Harry’s name, and all of that glorious pale skin on display, just for Harry, only for Harry.
He's already burnt this image into his memory.
He sinks in especially deep and straightens up, bending Malfoy’s left leg over his own shoulder and resting his right leg on the bed. He continues to thrust, Malfoy’s face crumpling in bliss at the new position. "Harry, there, fuck," he gasps, his eyes rolling back into his head and his toes curling. "No, you missed it, ah, yes, there, right there—"
Lust storms through Harry’s blood, his grip tightening on Malfoy’s thigh as he hits that spot over and over. Sweat gathers in his lower back, his body going warm all over. Malfoy trembles like earlier, and Harry clenches his teeth at the familiar sensation of his balls drawing up, the intense pressure signifying one of the best, if not the best orgasm—
"Fuck!" he exclaims, pulling out and squeezing his prick, his breaths hot and heavy. "Was gonna come. Not yet." He closes his eyes briefly, waiting for the jagged edge of his impending orgasm to fade.
"S'okay," Malfoy mumbles. "I was gonna come soon. Too good." He tugs Harry down, drawing him into a giddy kiss. Before he knows it, Malfoy rolls them around and pushes him onto the bed. He grins and climbs on top of Harry, straddling him just like that night at the common room.
"Let me take care of you now.” Malfoy smooths Harry’s hair back and caresses his cheek, fingertips trailing down the sweat tracking the sides of his face. Malfoy begins to roll his hips, rubbing Harry's cock along his crease. When the head of his cock catches on his rim, Malfoy moans. He rises up, and Harry holds his own cock steady, his eyes wide as he watches Malfoy lower his hips, easing Harry’s cock into him.
Harry groans and fists his hands into the sheets.
His lips pushed into a pout, Malfoy rides him, slow and sweet. He places his hands on Harry's chest to brace himself as he bounces up and down, driving Harry wild with lust. “Fuck, that’s good. Like that, Draco, just like that,” Harry says in a strained voice, bending his knees and pushing his feet into the bed. He reaches for Malfoy’s arse and kneads it, before swearing and thrusting upwards.
“Fuck yes. Harder, harder,” Malfoy demands, biting his lip and going faster. Pre-come drips from his cock, gathering on Harry’s stomach, and Harry fucks hard into him. “Need you in me, Harry, need you so much, want this all the time, so much—"
“God, yes.” Harry motions for Malfoy to lean forward on top of him until he’s on his hands and knees, giving Harry more space to thrust. “Gonna give it to you good. Like this, c’mon, let me fuck you good and fast.”
Malfoy dissolves into an incoherent mess, the tendons on his neck standing out like cords as Harry pounds into him. He lowers his head, burying his face into the crook of Harry’s shoulder, his chest heaving and body jerking forward with each slam of Harry’s cock.
“Discipline me next time,” Harry says, barely managing the words as he sheathes himself in one sleek, smooth glide. His voice drops to a raw, hoarse whisper. “Tie me up, blindfold me. Those red silk ribbons.” He swallows, pulling out and punctuating every other word with a hard thrust. “Do whatever you want to your Gryffindor. Just wanna make you feel good.”
"Wanna be so good for you," Malfoy mumbles. He lifts his head, eyes half-lidded and dazed.
"You are, every fuckin’ time. So perfect. All that I want, all that I need." Harry squeezes Malfoy’s arse so hard that he’s certain he’ll leave marks. Fuck, sex with Malfoy is amazing, brilliant, out of this world. No one else can give it to him this good, give him sex so hot and addictive, as if an inferno is burning in his blood.
"You don’t know what you do to me," Harry mutters, his orgasm building. "Do to me here." He presses a hand to his heart. He's never been in love, and he doesn't know what his heart is telling him now, but it feels a lot like… like love.
No matter what happens, they'll always have tonight.
Malfoy rests his hand on top of Harry’s, and Harry slows down until he’s simply buried inside Malfoy, filling him up completely. They stare at each other in a loaded silence. Malfoy gazes at their joined hands. "Harry, I…" He lifts his eyes to Harry’s face, his voice brittle. "It's only you, always you. You know that."
"Fuck, Draco." Desire and lust floods Harry’s system, so powerful and strong that his heart clenches. He rolls them over until he’s on top. He drives himself into Malfoy, fucking him hard until Malfoy's chanting his name like a prayer, his neck and chest engulfed in a deep blush as he wanks. And when Harry hits that spot one last time, Malfoy shouts wordlessly, punching the bed and spurting all over his stomach.
At the sight, Harry swears and picks up the pace, his body tensing like a coiled spring. "Gonna come," he slurs. "Where?"
"In me. Come for me, Harry, come in me, deep."
The thought of shooting his load in Malfoy is what drives Harry over the edge. "Fuck!" He comes hard inside Malfoy, wide-eyed and unbelievable starbursts of pleasure reverberating within him from head to toe. He releases a long groan, and then eases out, his come trickling out from Malfoy.
Fuck, that's hot, and Harry's still hard.
Biting his lip, he pushes back into Malfoy again. Malfoy releases a surprised sound, which melts into a rumbling moan. He whispers Harry’s name, spreading his legs and allowing Harry to fuck him slowly, until he finally goes soft.
Harry collapses beside him, their bodies flushed and slick with sweat in the afterglow. Harry would do anything to stay here with him, away from the prying media, societal expectations and familial duties. Malfoy sat for his last N.E.W.T. today, while Harry finished his exams late last week. This marks the beginning of the end for them. The Leaving Ball is in two weeks, and after that…
He can’t bear to think about it.
"I like your dimples," Malfoy says, out of the blue. "When you smile."
Harry smiles, just for him. He smiles, despite his heart sinking. Malfoy hauls himself out of bed, wincing and pressing his palm to his lower back. He roots around in his clothes for his wand and cleans them up.
Harry isn’t expecting it when Malfoy starts to wear his clothes.
"We don't have to go back so soon," Harry says at once, sitting up. He hates how hopeful he sounds, but he can't help it. "We could stay until tomorrow morning, wake up together."
Malfoy pauses in sliding his leg into his trousers. "What? We can’t. Everyone will figure it out."
Unease roils in Harry's belly, and he tightens his hands on the sheets.
"So what? I don't care, Draco!" he snaps. "We just had sex!"
"It doesn't change anything."
Harry recoils, the words driving shock and hurt into his aching heart.
"It doesn't change anything, does it?" Malfoy bursts out, his cheeks pink not from pleasure, but in agitation. He rubs the back of his neck, a physical tell that hints to Harry that he's lying, that he doesn't mean a fucking word, but—
“Because you’re Harry Potter and I’m Draco Malfoy!” Malfoy lashes out, looking as wretched as the day when Harry saw him in the sixth-floor bathroom. He drops his arm, and his Dark Mark stands out in sharp contrast against his skin. “I can’t abandon my family for you, nor are you going to surrender your hopes and dreams to settle down with me in Britain. You're still going to leave, and I'm going to return to the Manor, care for my parents and uphold the family name. They’re all I’ve got. You'll do what's expected of you, and the same goes for me." His next words lose conviction, tumbling out in a sad whisper. "How we feel for each other… it doesn't change anything."
"What you told me… just now when we were…” Harry’s skin still thuds with Malfoy's touch, those words of meaning and adoration were like a balm, soothing his heart. And now, for Malfoy to turn it all upside down and say that it didn't mean anything…
It was so simple; the tempting promise of mind-blowing orgasms with someone as fit and intriguing, yet as complex and stubborn, as Malfoy. It started with a kiss during detention, but Harry couldn’t let it go. He tracked Malfoy down with the Marauders' Map, and things developed, encouraged by a gradual lowering of defences, late-night talks and a lot of snogging. It was supposed to be easy, straightforward—enjoy each other's company until school ended and they moved on with their separate lives.
Until Harry's messy emotions got in the way. Until he took to gazing at Malfoy during classes, a small, shy smile on his lips and stars in his eyes. Until he developed the habit of facing Malfoy when he sleeps, so that he’ll be the first thing he sees when he wakes up.
Harry can't go back to that anymore, because now he wants more, so much more. He laughs, a cold and hard sound of pain masked as anger. "I just want to be with you. Why is that so difficult?"
Malfoy closes his eyes briefly. "I was never yours, and you can never be mine. Not in this lifetime," he says, his words pierced with pain. He picks up his shirt and puts it on.
Harry reaches for his glasses and gets out of bed, heading towards his scattered clothes. "So, what now? We pretend that tonight never happened? We wake up tomorrow morning and continue to fool our friends into thinking that there's nothing between us?" he says, his dull, flat voice going muffled when he pulls his T-shirt over his head.
Just thinking about that is enough to make him sick to the stomach. He wants to march into the Great Hall tomorrow, grab Malfoy's hand and hold it up for the entire world, to declare that they’re together. Harry knows what he felt tonight, but if Malfoy himself refuses to acknowledge it, then…
Come away with me. The question lingers on the tip of Harry's tongue, but he can't keep putting his pride away. He finishes dressing and tucks his wand into his pocket, forcing a breezy tone, even though his heart is crumbling in his chest. "You know what, Malfoy? Maybe it's best that we end it here. The only thing you like about me is my dick, anyway. Besides, we're leaving school soon, so now's a good time, yeah?" He shrugs, looking away from Malfoy's hurt expression.
Every fibre of his being longs to rush over and hold Malfoy close, but he can't.
Malfoy has made his intentions clear.
"So, yeah, see you around. Have a good life," Harry says, jamming his hands into his pockets and slouching towards the door.
"Potter, no," Malfoy says, and the beseeching note in his voice is enough to make Harry look back at him. They’re hanging on the edge of a precipice, the events of tonight forever changing the trajectory of their relationship.
Ask me to stay.
They stare at each other, still and silent, as if waiting for the other to make a move first.
Ask me to stay, please.
No, Harry's not going to give in anymore.
His heart all the way down to his shoes, he whirls around and wrenches the door open, slamming it closed behind him, the sound ringing with a sad finality.
He hurries towards the dorms, propelled by self-righteous anger and painful heartbreak. Just the thought of parting ways, of not touching Malfoy again, of someone else in bed with him, giving him all the pleasure in the world when his pleasure is only for Harry to give…
Jealousy bubbles up within him. Harry growls and balls his fists, breaking into a run.
In twenty minutes or so, Malfoy will sneak back into the dorms. He'll go to his own bed, which isn't right, because he should be in Harry's arms instead. Harry looks around him, at the portraits who are stirring awake because of his Lumos and his loud breathing. He will never regret sleeping with Malfoy. It was their first time.
And also, their last.
Tears prickle Harry's eyes, but he swallows the knot of emotion lodged in his throat.
Malfoy doesn't deserve him.
How did everything end up like this? He doesn't have anything to remember Malfoy by, except for the mind-blowing sex, his splintering heart and Malfoy's vanilla scent soaked into his skin.
He can't pretend anymore.
Hogwarts suddenly feels stifling, as suffocating as the outside world, with their flashing cameras and intrusive questions.
He can't stay here anymore.
Harry stumbles through the portrait hole, running into Ron, who's sitting alone on the sofa in the dim light, his face turned towards the window.
Ron snaps out of his thoughts. "Hey, couldn't sleep, so—" He pauses, frowning. "What's wrong?" He looks at the love bites on Harry's neck, and Harry slaps a hand on them. "Something happened between you and Malfoy."
It isn't a question, and Harry can't be arsed to think of a denial.
"I have to go," Harry says, stalking across the common room.
"Go to bed? Yeah, it's really late. I'll come with, maybe I can sleep now."
"No, Ron. I have to go." Harry sprints up the steps, two at a time. "I'm leaving Hogwarts. We're finished with our exams anyway."
"But… Hermione? And the Leaving Ball—"
"I don't care,” Harry snarls, spinning around to face him. "I don't care, because I can't stay. I've had enough, I'm done, done with… with…" He punches the wall in frustration. “I'm gonna spend the night at Hogsmeade and then talk to Kingsley at the Ministry first thing tomorrow morning."
Ron's gaze lingers on Harry's love bites. They fall silent, a long and loaded moment pulsing between them. Harry doesn't know what to say if Ron asks him about Malfoy. He's tired of forming excuses, of hiding his love bites and his feelings.
Instead, Ron nods. "I'll help you pack.”
They sneak into the dorms. Ron casts a Silencing Charm and holds up his wand for a Lumos while Harry packs his essentials into his backpack and leaves his school things in his trunk, with Ron promising to bring it to the Burrow after Hogwarts.
Ron follows him to the courtyard in his slippers and pyjamas. They look at each other, the silence stretching, before Harry pulls him into a hug. Ron claps him on the back.
"Tell Hermione, McGonagall and your mum that I'll be alright. I'll write when I reach wherever the Ministry sends me to." Harry pulls away. "Tell Hermione not to worry."
"You know she will."
"Yeah. Wear your dark blue trousers for the Leaving Ball, the ones that Hermione likes so much," Harry says in an attempt at humour, but Ron's smile is wan.
Harry mounts his broomstick, waves at Ron, and launches himself into the air. He waves at Ron again and flies away until his best friend is a speck in the distance. He continues flying for a moment, before spinning around. He stares at Hogwarts, cloaked in moonlight and mysteries.
Hogwarts, his first home, where he made his first friends who went through life and death with him.
Hogwarts, where Malfoy is. The pieces of Harry’s broken heart are shouting at him to stop running, turn around and let Malfoy hold him. They could still salvage the situation, if Malfoy would only—
Enough.
Harry squares his shoulders, kicks off and takes to the skies, leaving his childhood and Draco Malfoy behind.
Geneva, Switzerland
Harry emerges from the en-suite, rubbing his damp hair with a towel. He regards his new living quarters. They're small and sparsely furnished, but it doesn't bother him—he's one of the few trainees who chose to live alone a short distance away from the academy. He’s not being anti-social, it's just that after spending most of his life in Hogwarts dorms, it's nice having his own space.
Not that he needs a lot of it here; he's practically a stranger in Switzerland. Sure, there might be a flicker of recognition and raised brows when he introduces himself, but it's a far cry from the unwelcome way people gasped, stared and pointed at him, whispering behind their hands, as he entered the British Ministry of Magic two weeks earlier.
"Post me anywhere. Anywhere but here," he requested of Kingsley.
Three days later, Harry took the Portkey to Zurich's Ministry of Magic and talked to some people. He then went to Geneva, and this is where he will be for the next eighteen months receiving training with the Swiss equivalent of the Aurors, before being posted to another country where he will start working proper.
He tosses his towel on the bed and walks to his table, unfolding Hermione's letter again. He smiles at her handwriting.
"I'm glad you've settled down. Switzerland in the summer sounds lovely, and you have to try the chocolates. The Concealment and Tracking module you mentioned sounds tricky, and the teacher you described doesn't sound any better. Is it difficult to find good English textbooks there? If it is, let me know, and I'll send some over.
Everyone's doing alright here. Some of the students still gossiping about how you left just like that. McGonagall asked me about you today at lunch. I updated her, and she was relieved. Do write her, won't you?
The Leaving Ball is coming soon, and the thought of sitting through the Leaving Feast without you is really strange. You've always been with us for every feast, and it's…
We really, really miss you, Harry.
Anyway, can you imagine who Neville invited for the Ball? Parkinson, Pansy Parkinson! Everyone's really shocked, but I saw the signs, of course."
Harry reads the rest of the letter, where Hermione talks about McGonagall's career guidance for the eighth-years and her same indecision between becoming a Healer or entering politics. He knows Ron plans to help George at Wheezes until he figures things out.
His stomach twists in homesickness. Just thinking about the scrumptious Leaving Feast is enough to make his mouth water. He misses Ron and Hermione terribly; it doesn't feel right going on an adventure without them. The libraries here are perfect for Hermione, while Ron would be as thrilled as him to catch the game between the Harpies and Karasjok Kites next month.
Harry looks at Parkinson's name, as if by doing that, the letter will volunteer information about Malfoy. He sighs and puts down the letter. Malfoy probably has a date for the Ball. In fact, he must've forgotten about everything. It's what he wanted, anyway.
He still dreams about Malfoy, still wanks to him. How could he not, when the only pleasure his body knows started and ended with Malfoy?
It's only been two weeks. He'll get over Malfoy soon enough.
He has to.
Harry shakes his head, getting rid of his Malfoy-related thoughts. His brows furrowing in determination, he folds up Hermione's letter and places it on top of a German for Beginners book. He pulls Ethics in the Eyes of the Law and Hermione's fifth-year gift of a study planner towards him.
He gazes out the window, placing his chin on his palm and grinning. The shops and bistros in the square are bustling, and his favourite store is the bakery below his flat. He wakes up to the scent of freshly baked bread every morning, and yesterday Elena gave him an extra roll.
This is a fresh start, a new beginning. He feels light and unburdened, as if he'd shrugged off a heavy weight on his shoulders.
Harry wipes the planner clean with a spell, erasing his fifth-year scribblings.
Sunshine reflects off the large fountain in the middle of the square, the rays sparkling with hope, promise and possibilities.
He opens his textbook and begins to read.
Osaka, December 1999
Harry weaves through the throngs of people at the neon-lit Dotonbori district. He passes by lively eateries, bars and shops, pausing near his favourite takoyaki stand. He considers it for a moment, before looking at his watch and hurrying away. The famous running Glico Man signboard looms ahead of him.
A poster tacked outside a music shop catches his eye—a pale, young Korean man with platinum blond hair and strikingly delicate features dressed in an oversized grey jumper, tight black jeans with rips at the knees and shiny black loafers. Jimin, says the text in English, accompanied by a string of Korean characters below his name.
Harry slows down, his eyes lingering on the man's blond hair, earrings and pale skin.
Rain streaks across his glasses, and he looks at the sky, squinting at the heavier drizzle. He pulls up the hood of his sweatshirt, discreetly refreshes his Warming Charm and resumes walking, narrowly avoiding a puddle of rain. He passes Dotonbori Canal, the bright lights of the signs reflected in the water. He rounds a corner, turning into Hozenji Yokocho, a small and old-fashioned alleyway tucked away from the hustle and bustle of Dotonburi. He releases a breath, glad to escape the crowds. He stands outside what appears to be an abandoned sushi shop, peers around, and waves his wand at the dark storefront.
The facade melts away, revealing a jukebox cafe. Harry looks at the sign—IQ148. Despite frequenting the cafe, he hasn’t asked the owner about the origins of this quirky name. Does this mean Ayumi has an IQ of 148?
The bell above his head tinkles when he enters. He waves, greeting the owner in Japanese. Ayumi smiles and asks him if he wants his usual cafe latte. He nods and heads to his table near the window, dumping his gym bag on the ground and making himself comfortable on the squashy sofa, complete with cushions. He takes off his glasses and wipes them on his sweatshirt. He watches Ayumi for a while as she twirls her wand, murmuring spells in Japanese to prepare his drink.
Harry loves the warm and homely feel of IQ148. The décor reminds him of the Burrow, and he makes a satisfied sound and sinks further into the sofa. There are rows of teas and coffee mixes for sale, along with a few dainty porcelain tea-sets. The pastry display is always well-stocked, and Harry sits up and cranes his neck, trying to see if his favourite chocolate cake is available tonight. This time, the café is decorated for Christmas. He smiles at the snow-tipped garlands and the small Christmas tree festooned with colourful, sparkling ornaments.
He thanks Ayumi when she places his coffee in front of him. He takes a sip, wraps his hands around the mug, closes his eyes and sighs. After a moment, he hugs a cushion to his chest and leans back, his shoulders slumping as the tension of the week-long field work ebbs away in this calming ambience and good coffee. It was exhausting, both physically and mentally, working with and teaching the Japanese Aurors, with their different work ethic and ways of thinking.
The rain continues to fall, and the jukebox plays a melancholy tune not in Japanese, but in what sounds like Korean. The singer is female, her voice soothing, smooth and emotional, complementing the piano and violin in the background. He doesn't understand the lyrics, but the song is poignant and wistful, as if the singer is missing someone far away.
Harry finds himself thinking about Malfoy.
He looks at the rain streaking down the window, and absently traces the path of a raindrop with his fingertip. Muggles, their silhouettes blurred behind the glass, trickle past the café, not sparing it a second glance. He holds his mug and lifts his gaze to the moon, which is hanging round and full, accompanied with dark-grey scraps of clouds drifting in the night sky.
What are you doing now? Have you ever thought about me?
Malfoy is probably working in Potions. He's also probably going out with someone; he's too fit and gorgeous to be single. He doesn't know if the Malfoys are aware about Malfoy’s sexuality. They definitely won’t be alright with it at first, but if there's one thing he knows about them, it's their enduring love for their son. Maybe they'd even let him settle down with a bloke in Wiltshire. An image forms in Harry's mind—of Malfoy and another man sitting in the Manor gardens, sipping tea and holding hands, comfortable in their life of gentility and stability.
Something deep in his chest rumbles, voicing jealousy and displeasure, but Harry pushes it away. His eighth year feels like an eternity ago, and although he wouldn't go so far to say that he'd wish Malfoy the best, he hopes Malfoy can find someone who feels so strongly for him as much as Harry feels—
He frowns, rubbing a hand over the thick stubble on his jaw and the top of his neck.
As much as he felt for Malfoy.
The tinny sound of a Christmas melody rings through the cafe, jarring Harry from his thoughts. Ayumi laughs when a young girl presses a switch on a tiny sleigh to play another festive song.
It's Harry's first Christmas away from home. He returned last year, missing the Weasleys and his friends too much. Although he can’t go home this year, he's not spending it alone. A familiar figure approaches the café, and Harry grins when Nowaki enters. He props his umbrella near the door and looks around, his eyes lighting up when he spots Harry.
"Hey. How was field work?" Nowaki says, matching Harry's smile. He squeezes his hand, his beam widening when Harry returns the gesture. Harry answers, and Nowaki follows up with, "Did Ron and Hermione get back okay?"
Harry nods. Their four-day visit ended a day before he left for field work.
Ron furtively pulled him aside one evening, clutching a few photographs. "I'm gonna propose to Hermione soon."
"That's brilliant!"
"We still have to save up some money for a place and figure out stuff, but…" Ron's ears turned red, and he ducked his head. "I just wanna make it official, y'know? So she knows it's… it's for life." He suddenly paled, eyes wide with alarm. "What if she says no?"
"She won't. You two have been together for like, forever."
"Really? You think so? I just dunno which ring suits her. What do you think?" Ron spread out photos of engagement rings. As Harry sifted through them, a pang of sadness cut through his excitement. He should be looking at the real rings and accompanying Ron to the shop, not looking at photos in a country so far away. Harry asked him about his plans for the engagement, disappointment reverberating through him when he realised he couldn’t be there.
They had their first dinner in Japan at Harry's favourite udon place. After a while, he asked about Malfoy. He knows they see him sometimes at the Leaky, because Parkinson and Neville are going out now.
"Did he ask about me?"
His friends shared a look, and Hermione replied him in the negative even though Ron's face scrunched up in that tell-tale manner, looking very much as if he wanted to tell Harry something.
Nowaki joined them for lunch on their last day.
"Ron didn't seem to like the sashimi that much," Nowaki points out, his words jolting Harry back to the present. He nicks Harry's biscuit from his saucer and nibbles on it.
"It was an acquired taste for me too, remember?"
Nowaki chuckles. "Yes." He pushes his chair away from the table. "I'm going to order. Do you want anything else?"
Harry shakes his head.
He checks out Nowaki as he walks to Ayumi to order his usual caramel macchiato. He's fit, with a stocky build, strong biceps and well-shaped shoulder blades shifting under his white T-shirt when he rests his arms on the counter.
Despite looking at Nowaki’s amazing arse, Harry's mind wanders to someone else who is taller and slimmer, someone with blond hair and paler skin. He’s someone who doesn’t laugh and smile as much as Nowaki, but who's full of cutting wit and amusing snark, someone who gets Harry's blood pressure rising with a biting remark and an arched brow.
Sometimes, when he's in bed with Nowaki, it's not Nowaki he's thinking about.
London, August 2000
"To the happy couple!" they shout and clink their glasses, dissolving into a raucous chorus of cheers and whoops. Firewhiskey sloshes over the rim of Harry's pint, and he looks at everyone crowding the booth in the Leaky—all the Gryffindors in their year, along with some Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. It's brilliant seeing everyone together. The last time Harry saw some of them was when he was still at Hogwarts. He returned from Istanbul two days ago, and he'll be leaving for Berlin two days after the wedding.
Seamus and Dean tease Ron and Hermione about the wedding next week, and Harry's best friends share a smile so soft and tender that Harry has to look away. He’s filled with happiness for them, yet his joy is mixed with envy and a stab of loneliness.
Hermione twists her engagement ring around her finger—the one that Harry agreed on with Ron in Osaka. "I'm so happy you're here,” she says, beaming at him and holding his hand.
Harry smiles, his fingers tightening around hers. "I'd come back from the ends of the world for this."
The door of the pub swings open, revealing Neville and Pansy Parkinson. Harry can't help himself; he sits up straight and looks at the door, hope flaring in him for a glimpse of a blond head and stormy grey eyes.
His face falls when another group enters.
He greets Neville and Parkinson. Neville pulls him into a hug, while Parkinson congratulates Ron and Hermione.
"Hey, no Malfoy?" Seamus asks Parkinson.
Harry's heart stutters when Parkinson, Ron and Hermione dart a look at Harry.
"He's busy," she says.
It's halfway into the night when Parkinson sits beside Harry. She regards him with curious eyes, a red-tipped finger circling the rim of her champagne glass. "You looked disappointed to see me earlier," she points out, gesturing to the door with a lazy flick of her wrist, the charms of her bracelet clinking. She eyes him from top to bottom, starting from his double earrings on his left earlobe, down his shoulders, biceps and chest. Harry fidgets in his seat and rubs his beard, the force of her gaze disconcerting.
She inclines her head and drops her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "He knows you're back for the wedding."
Harry’s breath catches in his throat at the mention of Malfoy, but his hope deflates when he connects the dots. Malfoy knows, and judging by Seamus' earlier question, his appearance at the pub is rather common. But he's not here tonight, because he wants to avoid Harry.
"Who?" he asks.
Parkinson scoffs. "Don't play dumb. He could never keep anything about you as a secret. He tried, of course, but I'm not his childhood friend for nothing. I know his thoughts and feelings better than himself sometimes."
Harry touches the cool, wet surface of his mug. Instead of looking at her, his eyes follow the bead of condensation winding its way down. “How is he?" he asks, his voice small.
"London on weekdays, Wiltshire for the weekends. He's working in Potions, and it's annoyingly difficult to get him out of the office at times, and there are far too many explosions in his laboratory." Parkinson's lip curls, although her words are fond. "I do tend to surround myself with musty academics," she says, glancing at Neville, the Hogwarts Herbology professor.
Harry grins at the thought of Malfoy hunched over his work-bench, surrounded by cauldrons, ingredients, vials and scrolls of parchment. "It suits him. He’s always been keen on that," he blurts out.
Parkinson pounces on his words, a triumphant smile winking on her lips. “So, he’s told you before about his choice of career?”
Harry’s smile shrivels up, and he hastily backtracks. "Er, I'm glad he found something that he likes so much." He looks away from her inquisitive gaze, turning his attention to some of his friends dancing on the small dance floor in the corner of the pub.
"But it is curious, however," Parkinson says, her words careful and calculated. Her eyes are piercing, transporting Harry back to eighth year at the Great Hall, when she looked at him over her glass as Malfoy spoke to Andrew Smith. "That he was so miserable the day after his last N.E.W.T., sloping around like a funeral on legs for the rest of term."
Harry stares at her.
"Coincidentally, it was after the night you fled Hogwarts in that overly dramatic manner." Parkinson taps a finger on her lower lip, pretending to be deep in thought. "You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"
"No," Harry lies. He was sad when I left. I meant something to him.
"Oh, really?" she remarks, before peering at him intently. "Potter.” She frowns, conflicted. She fiddles with her napkin, folding the corners down and smoothing them out. She repeats the motion, sighing. "If you're not over him, if you still want him, you have to act fast," she says, an urgency in her words. "Time is running out, and preparations are already underway."
"Preparations? For what?"
Her expression is grave when she opens her mouth to speak—
"Hiya, Harry. Mind if I interrupt to dance with Pansy? It's our favourite song," Neville barges in with a crooked grin, his arm already around her.
Harry nods amidst his confusion. Parkinson throws him a strange look as Neville leads her away. He watches as they hold each other and rock to a slow, romantic song. The other couples in their group are dancing too, lost in their own world of two.
Harry suddenly feels very lonely.
Neville whispers into Parkinson's ear, and she laughs, a bright and happy sound that Harry has never heard before. She looks so different when she’s with him, so open and expressive. Maybe that's a Slytherin thing, because…
Because Malfoy was like that with him.
Harry tugs his gaze away from the happy couple and regards his friends. It is nice re-connecting with everyone. Hannah just gave birth to a lovely boy, and Terry Boot just got married. Everyone’s moved on from Hogwarts, be it marriages, going for further studies or starting new jobs.
They've come a long way from the Three Broomsticks at Hogsmeade.
Harry’s job has caused him to miss birthdays, weddings, pub nights, celebrations and Christmases. Still, he wouldn’t have any other career, which has whisked him away to amazing places with different cultures, food, scenery, people, and ways of thinking.
He glances at Ron and Hermione dancing. Despite his wanderlust, the thought of leaving Britain again, of leaving them, is more difficult than he'd expected.
Maybe it's time to come home soon.
He looks around, his smile turning into a frown when a woman stares at him and nudges her companion, indicating Harry with a jerk of her chin.
Harry slumps down his seat, lowers his head and pats his hair over his scar.
Maybe not.
Besides, it's clear that Malfoy doesn't want anything to do with him. After what you said to each other, how you left like that, d’you think he'd want to see you again?
Harry’s heart throbs with a familiar and painful longing.
It's been two years.
He'll come home eventually, but he's not ready yet.
Not now.
/tbc